


Something In Between

by 12gatsunohime (inkstainedwretch)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Consensual Underage Sex, M/M, that's it that's the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-28
Updated: 2009-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 06:47:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26847667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkstainedwretch/pseuds/12gatsunohime
Summary: Alfred has changed, and Arthur has noticed. The once-small boy is not so small, and he wants more from Arthur than he could ever ask for.
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Kudos: 14





	Something In Between

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to livejournal, [here](https://12gatsunohime.livejournal.com/25408.html). (In the first instance, it was posted to the APH kink meme in response to a prompt asking for a consensual UK/USA shotacon story, but I can't find that anymore.)

Arthur stepped off the boat and breathed in the smell of forest, of sand, of warm sun and frosty mountains. He truly loved the smell of America.

Speaking of whom...

This was strange. Alfred was usually tripping over his own feet to run out and greet him. Now, he didn't even see the boy anywhere. He took off his hat and scanned the area, searching for that small golden head that should be rocketing toward him any minute now--

"ARTHUR!"

"What--"

_WHAM_

Arthur landed on his face with something very giggly (and a whole lot heavier than he remembered) latched onto his back. He pushed himself up, stuck between catching his breath and trying not to breathe dirt, and reached around him to pull the boy off his back and onto his front so he could get a better look at him.

 _My God._ He stared at the figure on top of him in amazement. _When did he get so_ big?

"You shouldn't jump on a man from behind like that," he laughed, hauling himself to his feet (and dragging Alfred with him). "I thought I raised you to be more of a gentleman than that."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Alfred dismissed the comment altogether. "Did you miss me? I missed you. What did you bring me? Is it coffee? I like coffee."

"I'm sure you do." God only knew he didn't get enough sleep already. "You'll just have to wait until we get back to your house, won't we?"

Alfred's eyes shot open.

"Are you staying? Are you staying with me this time? Not in an inn at the capitol like you usually do?"

"No, I'm not here on business this time," _and neither of us need to think about how long it took me to get this much time off_. "I came here just so I could visit you."

Alfred made a noise kind of like a very happy, very large bird and threw his arms around Arthur's neck. Within an instant, he had flung himself off, grabbed Arthur's hand and was running as fast as he could to his house.

"This is gonna be amazing! I've got a bunch of new stuff to show you, and I found this weird animal in my back yard the other day, and remember you promised me that this time you were going to teach me how to hunt!"

Oh right. Well, that would be an adventure, at the least.

~~~~~

"Now, steady, and for god's sake, aim before you shoot."

"I know how to do _that_ , Arthur. I swear, you never take me seriously."

"I'm just showing you how to aim properly."

"You've been doing that since we got here. I think I can handle it."

Arthur relented, and stepped back. Alfred fired, and sure enough, hit the target dead-on. Arthur was genuinely surprised. _Perhaps he's grown even more than I thought._

Shot after shot sounded from Alfred's gun. Every target Arthur had set up fell, with scary accuracy. Alfred rolled his shoulders to shake off the effects of the recoil, and Arthur couldn't blame him. The gun was smaller than most, but still packed a punch.

_He's still so small, though, when you get right down to it._

Finally, right about the point when Arthur began to wonder if he was going to have to get new targets, it seemed Alfred had gotten bored.

"Let's go back in," he said. "I'm hungry."

~~~~~

After dinner, Alfred was in the bath, and England was in the living room with a book. The most notable difference in atmosphere since the last time he was here (too long ago, far too long) was the distinct lack of pretend ship-to-ship combat noises coming from the bathroom. Instead, Alfred seemed to be talking to himself, trying to keep his voice low so Arthur couldn't make out what he was saying.

"Hey, Arthur?"

"Hm?"

"Could you bring me a towel? I left them all in the laundry basket."

"I thought I told you to hang those up before you got in the bath."

"Yeah, well, I forgot. Please?"

"You know, I could just make you walk into the laundry room and get one. Make you learn your lesson."

"No, you wouldn't."

"And why not?"

"Because then I'd get water everywhere and you'd go ballistic."

"...Damn it."

"Thanks!"

Sure enough, every towel in the house was folded neatly in the laundry basket. Arthur sighed, but couldn't suppress a smile as he opened the door to the bathroom, releasing a magnificent cloud of steam. It seemed that, no matter how old Alfred got, some things would never change.

Alfred's back was to the door, and he bent his head back to look at Arthur upside-down when he entered.

"Thanks, Arthur." He stood, the bathwater just barely reaching his knees, and turned around to take the towel.

Arthur's smile disappeared. Fast.

"Hey, Arthur, chill," Alfred took the towel and began to dry himself off ( _starting with his hair, of course, that would be Arthur's luck, wouldn't it_ ). It's not like you haven't seen me naked like a thousand times."

_I wish that was the problem._ No, it wasn't the fact that Arthur could now see... _everything_ , nor was it the fact that Alfred was in the process of towelling himself off in a manner that Arthur was _not_ going to find appealing, no, not at all.

"Sure. I'm going to bed now. Still tired. Boat. Night." He made his exit quickly.

No, what made Arthur wrap himself in the sheets perhaps tighter than needed, made him press himself into the bed and attempt to will the fire in his face to subside, even as it spread down his stomach to collect in lower places, was that in the few moments before he'd had the sense to leave the bathroom, Arthur could see the potential, see the magnificent nation Alfred would one day be. And he could see the dazzling young ( _so, so young!_ ) nation he had become.

_Colony, Arthur, he's still your colony._

No.

No, he couldn't think of Alfred in strictly subordinate terms, anymore. He could see the strength and power not yet realized in the boy's still-growing frame. He could see what Alfred would one day become. What he had already become. It was terrifying. It was wonderful.

It was _beautiful_.  
~~~~~

A couple of days passed in relative calm. Alfred hadn't forgotten to put the towels back in the bathroom, and Arthur had managed to put the events of that evening behind him...mostly.

The whole thing would have been so much easier if every move the boy made, if all the subtle changes in his posture (no longer curved the way it used to be), his voice (still very high, but now completely without the lisp of childhood), the way he carried himself (he seemed so sure of himself, so ready to take the world head-on) hadn't been so damned _prominent_.

They were on horseback now, riding through the exquisite countryside, gazing at the mountains in the distance and silently contemplating what lay beyond. Alfred caught sight of a hawk soaring into the distance, and he got his horse into a fast gallop following the bird.

"Hey!" Arthur was soon after him. "You're getting off the track! We'll get lost!"

"No we won't!" Alfred called back, the wind whipping through his amber-gold hair and making his eyes narrow into slits. "I know this place better than anything. I just want to see where it goes."

Arthur huffed, but continued onward.

The hawk led them to a rather high ledge, then continued onward. Alfred stopped his horse and watched it with an expression akin to longing. Arthur joined him soon after.

"I guess I can't go that far just yet." Alfred murmured.

"Yeah," Arthur watched the bird disappear from his line of vision. "I guess not."

A moment of silence, and then:

"I hope you know how to get back on the trail."

"Of course I do." Alfred led them back the way they came, and sure enough, they had soon made their way to the path they'd been taking beforehand.

"You know," Alfred said in a melancholy tone, "sometimes I really do know what I'm talking about."

~~~~~

They were curled up on the living room floor, sharing a blanket. The fire wasn't lit, but it was nice to relax in the center of the house, watching the stars through the window.

"Tell me another," Alfred said dreamily.

"I'm running out of stories," Arthur laughed. "Why don't you tell me a story."

"But I don't know any good stories yet," Alfred sighed. "I haven't seen everything you've seen. You have all the good stories, Arthur. Pirates and fairies and wars and all sorts of stuff. You're just...awesome."

He moved closer and rested his head on the older nation's chest.

"I love you, Arthur." It was barely more than a whisper, but Arthur heard it loud and clear.

"I know, my boy," Arthur ran a hand up and down his small back. "I love you, too."

"No," Arthur leaned back quickly and looked him straight in the eye, "I mean it. I love you. Not in the way you think I mean it. I want to live with you for the rest of my life, and I want to have you all to myself."

He leaned back against Arthur's chest again.

"But you don't think I mean it like that, do you?"

Arthur didn't reply. He just held the boy close and prayed to God they both forgot about this in the morning.

~~~~~

The next morning, Arthur awoke to find himself on the living room floor, alone. _Alfred must have gone to bed after I fell asleep,_ he thought. _Can't really blame him, either. My back is killing me._

From down the hall, he could hear someone doing laundry and seemingly trying to make as little noise as possible. Laundry wasn't supposed to be done until the end of the week. What on earth...

There was the sound of something dropping to the floor, followed by a soft curse. Why in God's name was Alfred doing laundry at daybreak?

He got up, cracked a few joints he hadn't known he possessed, and headed toward the laundry room thinking they really needed to pull in one of the mattresses if they were going to do that again.

"Alfred, what on earth are you doing up so earl--"

"Oh!" Alfred nearly jumped out of his skin. "Hello, Arthur! I was just washing my bedclothes. It was time to wash them, anyway. I mean, you're always getting on me about leaving things until they're unusable before I clean them. So, what were we going to do today?"

Alfred's face was reaching the color of a poinsettia, very quickly, and he put a little more soap than was necessary into the water so Arthur couldn't even see if there was anything _in_ the wash, let alone what it was. Besides, didn't he have people who did this? Arthur could have sworn he did...whatever. He wasn't awake enough to care. Alfred had done some oddball things before; it wasn't like this was really all that surprising.

"Alright," he yawned, trying to stretch out his violently protesting legs as he shuffled to the kitchen, "I'll make us some breakfast."

By the time they'd finished breakfast, Alfred's little jaunt with the laundry had completely left Arthur's mind. He was far more concerned with their trip to the seaside that afternoon.

~~~~~

"Arthur! I found a jellyfish! Come look!"

Arthur was really tired of walking through sand, but nevertheless he followed his colony to a glimmering spot on the shore, where the poor creature had washed in with the tide. This particular beach wasn't really visited by people very often, so as usual, they were alone. Arthur suspected it had something to do with the near-impossible route you had to take to get there, but the emptiness was most of the reason _why_ they had always come to that beach. It was their own place, a place where they could just flout all the regulations and appearances they were required to uphold and just _live_.

"Don't touch it," he warned, "it's gone through enough already, being out of the water."

"You don't think it'll die, do you?"

"Alfred, you already know the answer to that question."

"..."

"I'm sorry, my boy, but some things just can't be helped."

"No."

And with that, Alfred took the small pail they had brought that had previously contained their lunch, removed the cloth that lined the inside, ran out into the water, and held out the pail as the tide came in as though he were trying to catch the power of the ocean itself.

He came back, pail full of water, and gently, oh so gently, scooped up the ill-fated thing, sand and all. Quick as lightning, he ran back out to the water and released it, hopping up onto a rock so he could see what happened without the risk of being stung by the frightened animal. Arthur watched with him as the sand washed away, and the fish swam quickly back into deeper waters. It was a damned lucky fish, to have Alfred get there in time. Just a few more minutes and it would have been long gone. It would probably never realize just how lucky it really was.

"Don't call me that."

"Hm?" Arthur was still watching the jellyfish as it disappeared.

"Don't call me your boy. I'm older than that, now."

Arthur froze, mind snapping back to the previous night. Quickly, silently, a small part of his heart broke.

"Alright, Alfred. I won't."

~~~~~

"Why are you doing this, again?"

"Because your hands are filthy."

"I'm not a _girl_ , you know."

"That doesn't matter. You should still have presentable hands. Otherwise you appear uncivilized and unprofessional."

" _Fine_. But do you really have to use the stone?"

"They're uneven. It looks unkempt."

"You are the only person I know who would use the word 'unkempt' seriously."

Alfred was in the bath again, and Arthur was sitting beside the bathtub, attacking his hands with a pencil-shaped piece of pumice stone. Arthur could tell the boy actually enjoyed the feel of it, and that he would sooner throw himself under a horse than admit to it. And for what it was worth, Arthur enjoyed it, too. It was a calming exercise.

Unfortunately, it brought to light a rather unsettling notion. Arthur was sitting parallel with the colony, so he couldn't see anything but bubbles and Alfred's head and arm, but...every time he moved, it was a reminder of the first night he'd spent here, of the stunning structure that was hidden from view by nothing but a thin layer of bubbles.

And, once the layer of dirt and callouses was removed, he had lovely hands. The palms were curved just so, and the fingers were long and flexible. His fingernails, even with the efforts of Arthur's stone, were remarkably long. It felt comforting in ways he didn't fully understand, to hold Alfred's hand in his own and smooth away the imperfections.

He didn't trim his nails, though. Just considering their length for too long made Arthur's mind go places they should never, ever go, and besides, to shorten them would do those hands a disservice. They suited him.

He finished with the first hand, and walked around to the other side of the tub and sat down once more. Alfred withdrew his other hand from the water to meet him.

Arthur took a small towel to remove the bubbles from Alfred's hand before using the stone to even out the callouses on Alfred's softened palm. Alfred let out a small giggle.

"What?" Arthur gave a small grin.

"Tickles." Alfred murmured. Arthur turned to see that Alfred had drifted off, and was resting his head on the rim of the tub. It took Arthur a moment to realize that Alfred's forehead touched the side of his own, and that his eyes had slipped shut, a content smile gracing his lips. He looked so content, so happy. Arthur hadn't seen him this genuinely relaxed all week.

Arthur wasn't relaxed at all. In fact, his face was heating up at an alarming speed. He didn't realize he'd completely frozen in place until Alfred's brow furrowed and he opened his eyes.

"Why'd you st...stop?" He asked, his voice dropping to a near-whisper as he realized how close their faces had become.

They stayed like that for a minute, neither of them moving, neither of them speaking, and if one was relying on sound alone, neither of them breathing.

Time stood still.

And then it seemed to move more slowly than ever.

Alfred raised his other hand from where it rested on the rim of the tub. Gently, oh so gently, he ghosted his fingertips over Arthur's forehead, spread them out and ran them through his hair, brought that soft, exquisite hand to stroke his cheek, those long fingernails giving the caress a tingling friction at the end, and this wasn't ever supposed to happen, and my god Arthur he's only a boy, and it was wrong and completely inappropriate and--

\--Alfred's lips were on his own, pressing gently, his other hand coming to frame the other side of Arthur's face--

_perfect..._

Before Arthur even realized what had happened, his lips were pressing back, his hands were making his way to the boy's shoulders--

_Such small shoulders--_

Arthur broke apart with a gasp, face vermillion, pulse in his ears, pumice stone long forgotten on the floor.

"I'm sorry." he said quickly, darting out of the bathroom and straight to the liquor cabinet, searching for something that would put him to sleep, and fast.

~~~~~

Arthur ultimately decided that alcohol wasn't the best option at this point, given the circumstances, and ended up in his room for the rest of the night, waiting for Alfred to go to bed. When he had heard Alfred's door close for the night and waited an hour, he ventured into the kitchen for a glass of wine to calm his nerves.

He was approaching the door to Alfred's room when he heard something that made him stop dead in his tracks. The door to his room hadn't been closed all the way, and from inside, Arthur could hear that his breath had become rapid and uneven, and that he was by no means still.

_Oh, god, is he alright?_ Later, Arthur would blame this thought for starting the large cluster of problems that arose that night. To be fair, it could have been anything: sickness, some kind of fit, he could have hurt himself, he could be in serious pain and Arthur wouldn't have known while he was locked away sulking...

But by the time Arthur was already in his room, before he could even open his mouth to ask if everything was alright, he could see quite clearly that every one of his imagined potential causes had been utterly wrong.

Alfred was asleep, and he was by no means in pain.

His quick, shallow breathing, his hands clenching in the bedsheets as he writhed and gasped before him, the flush on his distorted face, all had one very obvious, very _visible_ cause, and it was a problem that was fast becoming Arthur's problem, as well.

"th..Ar..Athur...yes..." Alfred whispered, moaned, spoke in the language of one who is lost in dreams.

Arthur shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be watching this. He most definitely shouldn't be reacting the way he was. He shouldn't be enjoying it the way he was.

"Nnh...please...t..touch..." Alfred moaned aloud this time, his back arching into the air, bringing his hardened length into the light streaming through the door, straining clearly against his pajamas. Arthur knew he should leave, get as far away from him as he could, but his legs refused to move. The way Alfred twisted, arched, whispered his name, moaned for release...it was hypnotic.

Arthur didn't even notice his own hand move until it was an inch away from the boy's flesh.

_No._

He stopped. To do something like that while he was asleep...it was just too much of a violation. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt him. The absolute last thing.

"Aah...yes...mnh, Arthur, aahn--" His head whipped from side to side, his hands dug further into the sheets, his hips ground down into the mattress, and by _god_ it was beautiful. Arthur had to cover his mouth with his hand to keep from waking him up, his other hand still hovering just inches away, feeling the heat radiating from his body.

"Hah--hah--mnh--ohhh...ah-- _ahn!_ " Alfred's hips snapped up, wetness darkening the front of his pajamas, face pressed into the side of his pillow, eyes screwing themselves shut even further. Then, all at once, he relaxed, falling back onto the bed with a soft thud, breathing more deeply, hands loosening their grip.

Then his eyes opened.

Vanishing like a ghost, Arthur was out of the room and down the hall to his own before Alfred could even fully wake up. He threw himself onto his bed, gasping for breath, trying his damnedest to will his straining, pulsing, very uncomfortable erection back down. After a minute, he realized that, even if he managed to bring himself back down, it would be too painful to be worth it in the morning.

Consigning himself to the lowest ranks of hell, he threw off his trousers, took his length in hand, and stroked himself tightly, barely suppressing a moan as he did so.

He didn't even try to keep his mind from playing the scene he had just witnessed over and over, imagining the texture of that burning skin beneath his, the taste of those flushed lips, that silky hair bunched between his fingers, and suddenly it wasn't his hand around him, wasn't his length he was twisting his hands around. The hand around him was smaller, the fingers longer, and another hand was on his shoulder, those fingernails scraping into his back, and a young, unbroken voice was moaning, shouting his name, screaming for more--

He came with a cry, shouting something he couldn't even hear properly, he was so lost. He fell back onto his bed, sticky with sweat and something he couldn't bring himself to think about, quickly taken over by sleep.

In his pleasure-induced haze, he had failed to notice the small, curious boy standing in his doorway, or that he had called out that boy's name more than once in his delirium.

\---

Alfred stared, wide-eyed, for what seemed like forever before tiptoeing back to his room, even though he was fairly sure Arthur wasn't going to wake up too easily.

He reached his bed, and removed his pajama bottoms to examine his half-hard length. He took it in hand and stroked it the way he'd seen Arthur do earlier. A spark of pleasure came down his spine at the memory of Arthur's display. _He called my name. I don't think he even knew I was there, but_ he called my name.

He leaned against the wall beside his bed and continued to pump himself.

This would be a joy in an otherwise confusing world.

~~~~~

The next night, as well as quite a few after it, passed with relative calm. Each morning, they would have breakfast, talk about everything going on in this colony or that country, make jokes and laugh with each other. In the afternoon, they would go out and visit the city, or they would go riding somewhere new, or they would simply stay at home and enjoy each other's company, playing games in the field outside his house and racing each other around the world and back again, just for the sheer fun of it. In the evening, Arthur would teach him how to play cards. It didn't seem like anything worth Alfred's time at first, but he discovered pretty quickly how much he enjoyed subverting his plays and perfecting the art of bluffing.

Neither of them mentioned Alfred's dream, or Arthur's reaction to it. Arthur didn't seem to know Alfred had seen him, nor was Alfred really sure whether or not he'd actually seen the man in his room that night, or if he'd simply heard him from down the hall (he had forgotten to shut his door...). Neither of them seemed to want to acknowledge the night's existence, each keeping their own uncertainty from the other. It was almost as if nothing had changed.

Almost.

While he wouldn't dare admit to it, Alfred had spent each night since Arthur had inadvertently shown him more, ah, _interesting_ ways to occupy himself at night with his door shut tight, one hand clamped over his mouth while the other had better things to do. He would bring himself up, and up, and up, as many times as he could stand before sleep took him. It felt wonderful, but he had to keep his mouth shut tightly. If Arthur heard his panting, gasping, mind crafting images and sensations he knew were...he knew it all felt too good _not_ to be wrong...

But his hand would slip. Inevitably, his hand would slip, and a single gasp, a single moan, a single syllable of Arthur's name would ring loud and clear through his room, and he would freeze, eyes snapping open, heart launching itself into his throat. He would wait, heart pounding, whether in fear or anticipation he didn't know. What would happen if Arthur ever found him out...he didn't know, and that thrilled him and frightened him all at once.

The only marked difference in the days that followed was that, at night after they had finished playing cards, instead of sitting next to him by the fireplace, telling him stories of fact and fantasy, Arthur would bid him goodnight and go straight to his room, leaving him to shut himself in his own room and imagine.

He always felt shameful that he had to hide. He didn't even know _why_ he had to hide, really; something about the whole thing just felt...sinful. What was worse, though, was the things he imagined Arthur doing while his mind was lost in pleasure. When it had been a dream, his mind could be excused. Now, he was summoning it, creating it. The Puritan influence not yet gone from him was disgusted. The rest of him...confused. It didn't seem right, somehow, for him to think that kind of thing about him.

But--he reminded himself every time this train of thought crept up on him--Arthur had (apparently, anyway) thought of _him_ in that way, or at least he had that night. And he knew better than anything that Arthur was more experienced in this kind of thing (as well as almost everything else, really), so he understood better what was right and what was wrong. He would tell him if something wasn't alright, wasn't allowed...

So...was it alright? 

He wondered this late at night, after the sun was long gone, the moon glimmering through his window, its grin full of malice--or malicious joy. Was it alright, he would ask himself, idly unbuttoning his shirt and smoothing his hands down his chest, tweaking and pinching and grazing his fingernails over his skin. Imagining bigger hands, rougher fingers, those lips pressed to his again...

Was it alright, to want this? To want to feel him, all of him, hold him tightly and never let go, never let anyone else have him, keep him all to himself? Was it alright for a colony to want to possess his country?

No, he didn't want to _possess_ Arthur...at least, not yet. No, if anything, he wanted Arthur to possess _him_ , to make him his, consume him, touch him _everywhere_. But, Arthur still saw him as a child...was that it? Because he was so young? He felt his blood simmer; if there was one thing he _hated_ , it was being told he was too young.

Still, he thought to himself as he gently lay back and slid his waistband down past his knees, tracing a few fingers over the violently sensitive area where hips met thighs, whatever the reason, it all meant the same thing: Arthur wasn't about to say anything, and he certainly wouldn't accept him.

But, if there was one thing Alfred had learned, it was that Arthur would avoid an uncomfortable subject until his dying day if he could get away with it. It had been the same way with teaching him how to shoot. It had taken ages to convince him he was ready to learn.

And by god, was he ready to learn, now.

Arthur was not there. He had been called out on an emergency earlier in the evening and wouldn't be back for at least another hour. He didn't have to hold himself back.

Hands were no longer sufficient, he discovered, for keeping his sounds unheard. They were too easily distracted by more interesting areas to explore, or his fingers would begin to taste entirely too good, and before long he would be sucking loosely on one or two instead of keeping them tight around his mouth. What exactly the appeal was in that, he didn't quite understand, but it felt good nonetheless.

Before too long, he was in nothing but his socks, and he kicked his underwear off with a contented sort of _aahhh_ , stretching out on his bed before reaching down to take himself in hand, sliding his hand up and down, up and down, very slowly at first, quite unlike his usual haste to get himself to the top as quickly as possible. He could afford to enjoy himself tonight.

It felt marvelous, to be able to sigh and moan and murmur to his imaginary Arthur without having to worry about the real one hearing him. It made him feel so free, free to tell the darkness how much he wanted Arthur there with him, beside him, above him, wanted him to hold and stroke and kiss him, because...

Because he loved him. He loved him so much, and he had before, before he had arrived a week or so ago (he couldn't really remember), even before the dreams had started, long, long before. Not like a parent, or a brother, or a friend. Arthur was more than his friend, more than his brother. Arthur was his _everything_.

Was it wrong, to love him like that? The question was fleeting, overtaken by sparks and shocks of pleasure that jumped from where his hand met his skin, all the way up his spine and down to his feet. His other hand ventured lower, to cup and massage his sac and gently press and scratch his fingernails into his hips and thighs and backside, and _yes_...

"Mmnh, Arthur..." he gasped, "Arthur, please, _please_ \--"  
In his mind, his hands were not his own. In his mind, Arthur had broken that last barrier, had wrapped his hands around him and was kissing him, even fiercer than he had before...

He brought his free hand to his mouth and licked up and down one finger, then two, sucking on them between gasps and cries, raising his hips and pulling on himself with increased speed.

"Ah, aaaaah, mmm, yes," his voice had dropped to a whisper, "yes, oh god--"

He was close now, he could feel it. He bit down on the fingers in his mouth and positively writhed on top of the bed sheets. They would be covered with sweat in the morning, he knew it. Among other things.

"Aah, aa- _aah, Arthur, Arthur!_ "

The door to his room was thrown open.

" _What, what is it? Are you alri--_ "

Alfred's eyes rocketed open. Arthur stood panting, flushed, having obviously rushed to see what was wrong with him...

And now they were motionless. Staring at each other. Neither of them saying a word. Neither of them moving. Alfred still had two fingers in his mouth. Arthur was still holding onto the door handle with one hand. He had completely knocked over the chair that Alfred had put there to keep the door shut, but neither of them seemed to notice. Neither of them moved a muscle until Arthur did what, Alfred would decide later, was really the only logical thing to do in his situation.

He bolted back down the hall to his room.

...

_No._

They'd come this far already; Alfred wasn't about to let Arthur slip through his fingers again.

He yanked his socks off and tore after him, naked as it was possible to be and absolutely _frantic_. He made it to Arthur's room just in time to slip through the door as Arthur was closing it. They stared at each other for a moment, Alfred trying to catch his breath, before Arthur walked slowly to sit on his bed, giving a defeated sigh.

"I'm so sorry, Alfred."

"You haven't done anything wrong." Alfred tilted his head. "Why are _you_ sorry?"

"I...I feel like I should be. I feel like I've hurt you, somehow."

"You haven't hurt me," Alfred whispered, coming to sit beside him, moving closer as Arthur flinched away. "You haven't done anything to me."

"Not yet," Arthur ran his fingers through his hair furiously, scratching at his scalp. "Not yet, I haven't, but god, the things I've thought--" he gave a frustrated hiss, "I'm _not right_ , Alfred. Something is very, very wrong with me. You're so young, and I don't know how to control myself, and I just...god, I'm afraid I'll end up hurting you, and then I'll never forgive myself. Seeing you like that...you're not ready to be with someone. Not like that. But you're just so...wonderful, and it makes me want things I shouldn't want. Please tell me you understand."

Silence. Alfred knew Arthur wasn't done, and he wanted him to say everything before he spoke.

"I'm so sorry, Alfred," Arthur shook his head, hands over his face. "Just...I promise, just go back to your room, go back to sleep, and you can make sure my door is shut, and we can forget this ever happened. Whatever it takes to keep you safe."

Alfred watched the nation come undone before him, in anguish over his desire to protect him, and decided yes, yes it was alright to love like this.

"Arthur, what about everything _I've_ done?" Alfred put a hand on his arm. "What about that night by the fireplace, or when you were filing my nails? Arthur, you could never hurt me. I love you, and--" He moved his hand up to Arthur's face, his mouth almost refusing to form the words, "--I...I want you. All of you."

"No, you don't," Arthur shook his head. "No, you don't, because you're too young to want anyone that way, and you don't know what you're asking for, or what it really means, or--"

Alfred grabbed his shoulders and swung himself onto Arthur's lap before the man could say another word, clamping a hand over his mouth and locking eyes with him.

"Arthur," he said, projecting his voice so that it was a little louder than necessary, "No more apologies. No more talking. You're going to think yourself sick one of these days. Just...listen. I'm gonna say it again: I. Love. You. More than anything else in the world. More than spending an afternoon at the beach throwing rocks at seagulls. More than apple pie hot from the oven. More than Christmas. More than riding my horse so fast my hat flies off and I nearly fall out of the saddle, and if I had to give all that up just so you would stay with me, I'd do it. And I want you to--to hold me. And I never, ever want you let me go. I want you all to myself. And I want you to kiss me, and touch me, just--everywhere, anywhere you want, I don't care. As long as it's you."

Moving quickly, he moved his now-shaking hand and pressed his lips to Arthur's so hard he could feel the other man's teeth.

"As long as it's you."

He closed his eyes, steeling himself, ready to be thrown out of the room, ready to be left forever...

And then a large, strong hand made its way over his brow, moving the hair from in front of his eyes, over the side of his head, down his jawline and over his throat before coming to rest on his shoulder. Slowly, dreading what he might see, he lifted his head and opened his eyes.

Arthur's eyes were pained, but he was smiling.

"If you're hurt, or if you're scared, or if you just don't feel right, anything at all...tell me. Promise you'll tell me."

Alfred was positively trembling.

"P-promise."

With that, Arthur closed the space between them, pressing their lips together, harder, fiercer than he had before. Alfred wrapped his arms around his neck and responded, humming and murmuring his happiness. He felt Arthur's tongue give a tentative lick against his upper lip, and, half-opening his eyes, brought out his own tongue to slide curiously across Arthur's lower lip, then again right where his lips met. Arthur opened his mouth for him, and almost on instinct Alfred dovetailed his own lips against the nation's, taking in the new sensation and letting Arthur lead the way.

It was...well, it was very wet. Very slippery. And so very warm. It took a minute for him to get used to the feeling, but soon he had gotten over the strangeness of it and slid his tongue with Arthur's. He could taste rhubarb, and tea (Arthur must have had dessert wherever he'd gone), and something totally different that was purely Arthur, and it was one of the weirdest and most wonderful things he'd ever tasted. He combed his fingers through Arthur's hair, clung to the fabric of his shirt, caressed the sides of his face, anything he could do just to _feel_ him, to know he was there, that this was real. Unconsciously, he ground his hips into Arthur's, and quickly decided that was the best idea he'd had all night, and that he should keep doing it as much as he could.

After what could have been forever, Arthur broke off and looked at Alfred with pleading eyes, his heated gaze clouded with something that made something spin in Alfred's chest.

"You--" he whispered breathlessly, "you're sure you want this?"

Alfred could only nod.

"Alright..." Arthur breathed deeply a few times, "...alright."

He began to unbutton his shirt, kicking his unlaced boots off in the process. Alfred undid his belt buckle as quickly as he could and began to pull his shirt out of his waistband. When Arthur's shirt was out of the way and his trousers undone, Alfred gripped his waistband and slid off of Arthur's lap, taking his trousers down with him. Barely touching the floor, he pulled himself back up onto the bed and knocked Arthur onto his back, pressing their hips together and kissing him fiercely.

Arthur broke off again and began to trail kisses from his cheek to his jaw, taking a nip at his earlobe before kissing and sucking his way down Alfred's neck. Alfred leaned his head back and positively groaned, biting his lip as Arthur's teeth grazed his skin. His eyes shot open in surprise as Arthur found the cluster of nerves where neck met shoulder and bit down just hard enough to leave a mark. His hands fisted in Arthur's hair, eyes closing of their own accord.

" _Aaah!_ Yesssss, mmnh, harder! Bite harder!" He moaned in delight as Arthur complied, making sure that the mark was far enough down to be hidden under his shirt.

From there, he traveled lower, licking and kissing and sucking and biting his way down Alfred's shoulders and chest, just barely pinching his nipples with his teeth. One hand was wrapped around Alfred's back, and the other had reached down to squeeze and caress his backside. Alfred's moans had become softer, more breathless, and he could feel his neglected length resting on Arthur's stomach, hot and close to dripping.

"Touch me," he keened, "please, Arthur. Touch me."

Arthur slid him down until their hips met again and reached blindly for his bedside table. A small bottle of bath oil was contained within, and Arthur poured some onto his hand before taking both of their lengths in hand and twisting, pumping, all the while rocking his hips up to meet Alfred's.

"AAAH! Oh, oh yes, ah-- yes, anh, please," Alfred's eyes fluttered closed. It was so much better when Arthur did it, so much better to feel Arthur's larger length against his own, feeling its heat and movement. He shifted until his knees were on either side of Arthur's hips and sat upright so he could move better, positively gyrating into the friction of Arthur's fingers. He could feel those burning eyes on him, watching his every move and responding very loudly.

"Oohh, nnnh," Arthur's head snapped to one side and twisted down into the sheets, "oh my _god_ , Alfred."

Alfred arched backwards and braced his hands on the bed behind him, facing the ceiling as he cried out. Pleasure ran in twin bolts on the inside of his hips, pooling in his stomach and coiling in the most amazing way. He looked down at Arthur and watched him, unable to look away from the flush on his cheeks, the movements of his hand, the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the desperate _need_ reflected in his eyes.

All of a sudden, Arthur stopped. Alfred raised an eyebrow, leaning down to look at Arthur with a very confused, very frustrated expression.

"I want--" Arthur cleared his throat; his voice was breathless, "I want to try something. Do you--" cleared his throat again, "do you trust me?"

Alfred nodded.

"Right, then. Lie...lie down. Up there." He indicated the head of the bed and reached for the oil again.

Alfred shifted upwards and lay back, resting his head on the pillows and hoping this wouldn't take too long. Arthur poured more of the oil on his fingertips and spread it around Alfred's entrance, making his face twist into a comically (well, it would have been funny if it had been in any other situation) confused expression.

"What in the world?" He asked softly.

"It will feel good in a minute," Arthur reassured him. "I promise."

"Alright..." Alfred still couldn't see how this could feel anything but weird. Nevertheless, he figured Arthur knew more about this kind of thing than he did...

The bottle of oil was almost empty by the time Arthur was finished with it, and Alfred, who had been wondering where Arthur had been going with this, nearly jumped in shock when the tip of his finger found its way inside him.

"Are you alright?" Arthur was looking at him in concern again. "If it hurts, just let me know, and I'll stop. I promise."

"No, it's..." Alfred didn't know _how_ to describe it, really. "It doesn't hurt, really. You can keep going." He relaxed a bit and let Arthur slide his finger in all the way, turning and curling to let him get used to the sensation.

"Is it alright?" He asked.

"Yeah," Alfred nodded. "it's alright."

"My god, it's so tight..." Arthur lowered his head and closed his eyes, almost in disbelief. "Okay, I'm going to add another one. Just one more. Is that okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, one more."

Alfred let his eyes close once more as the finger was withdrawn, replaced quickly by what felt like his two middle fingers, which moved in farther and curled more strongly than his index finger had.

"How's that?"

"Good," Alfred was starting to enjoy the feeling of having part of Arthur inside of him, as well as around him, beside him, above him. He idly took his own length into his hand again as Arthur's fingers twisted and pressed. "It feels so strange, but-- _oooh_." The fingers had curled at just the right angle, brushing against something Alfred had never felt before.

"Was that it?" Arthur asked.

"Dunno what you're talking about," Alfred whispered. "Just do it again."

Arthur complied, pressing and stroking that spot inside of him, then pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in again quickly. Without even noticing it, Alfred began to move his hips to meet Arthur's fingers, watching as Arthur breathlessly began to bring himself off above him. Their movements became faster, more erratic. Alfred brought his hand up to catch Arthur's shoulder, vision clouded with pleasure.

"Yes, so good, god, that feels so good...more, more--harder, ooh, _please_ , harder." He dug his nails into Arthur's shoulder. "Here. Come here. Kiss me. Please, Arthur. Kiss me."

Arthur took his hand from his own hardness and wrapped it around the back of Alfred's head, kissing him with everything he had. Alfred took his free hand and did the only thing that seemed sensible and began to pump Arthur's shaft as well as his own, which made Arthur give a shuddering cry and kiss him harder, fusing their mouths and sucking on Alfred's tongue between breaths.

"Say my name," he murmured against Alfred's mouth, "at the end. Say my name."

Alfred nodded, twisting his wrists in alternating rhythms around himself and Arthur. He arched off the bed as Arthur's fingers plunged in deep, staying inside him and pressing against that wonderful spot over and over and over and--

" _Aanh!_ Yes! Oh, god yes, Arthur, Arthur, _Arthur!_ "

Pleasure exploded inside of him, causing him to lose his sight in a blinding flash and snap off of the bed, a warm stickiness coating one of his hands while the other clenched around Arthur. He regained his vision in time to see Arthur remove his fingers and use that hand to support himself while the other wrapped itself around Alfred's hand and moved with it, increasing in speed.

"Oohhh," his teeth clenched, and his eyes screwed shut as he came, "aah, AH! God, Alfred! Aah--ah"

His seed splashed across Alfred's stomach, mixing with Alfred's own. He collapsed onto the bed beside him, reaching onto the bedside table to find a small towel and clean them both up. Alfred reached down and brought one of the blankets at the foot of the bed up to cover them. He gave Arthur a soft kiss on the cheek and scooted closer to him.

"Love you, Arthur," he whispered.

He was just barely awake long enough feel Arthur's arm wrap around him and hear his whisper of "Love you too. More than you know," before sleep took him.

~~~~~

~~~~~

Sun began to stream in through the curtains. Alfred, who could ordinarily sleep through anything short of a full-out war, felt his eyes snap open at the realization that the warm thing beneath his head was not his pillow, and that there was an arm draped idly around his waist.

He looked up to see that he had managed to fall asleep on Arthur's chest, and idly wondered how on earth they'd managed to stay still the whole night. Then it finally hit him just why they had fallen asleep like that.

Oh.

His mind started reeling. He could easily imagine Arthur waking up, realizing what had happened, and then going back to his furious apologies of the night before, putting them back at square one. He ultimately decided that he had to let Arthur know he hadn't hurt him before he even got the chance to start worrying. He could only think of one way to do that.

He moved Arthur's arm and, rolling off of him with the uncomfortable sound of flesh un-sticking from flesh, crawled up until he was eye level with the nation. He smiled at how cute Arthur was when he slept, and gently as he could, pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Arthur's eyes fluttered open. Alfred then kissed him again, this time on the cheek. Arthur looked around, confused.

"Wha--"

He didn't even have the chance to finish his first word before he found himself silenced by a much smaller set of lips. Alfred lay down and cradled Arthur's face in his hands, smoothing them through his hair in a comforting motion.

"Ssh," he whispered. "It's alright. I'm alright. Please don't start worrying."

Arthur looked around the room, at the clothes piled on the floor and the almost-empty bottle of bath oil on the side table, and then back at Alfred.

"You're alright?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Good," Alfred found himself once again wrapped in a pair of strong, loving arms. "Then, so am I."

~~~~~

"Are you _sure_ you can't stay longer?" The hands tugging at his coat were going to leave a permanent crease if they kept at it. Arthur couldn't quite bring himself to care.

"Alfred, if I stay any longer, they're going to send the army after me." They had already sent the army after him, more or less, in the form of a letter from the king saying in very florid language that if he didn't come back they were going to have him deported. But Alfred didn't need to know about that. After all, it had really been Arthur's decision to stay for longer than he'd planned. It wasn't like they'd run out of ways to entertain themselves.

Arthur had worried for the longest time, still worried, really, that he had hurt the boy in some way.

No, he mentally shook his head. No, he wasn't a boy anymore. Not really. But he wasn't a man by a long shot. Something in between, then. Where childhood ended and adult life begin. A blend of both, really. And looking at him even now, Arthur could see that he was on the brink of greatness.

His heart swelled.

They loaded his bags into the carriage, and Arthur told the driver to give him a minute to check that he hadn't left anything. Back in the kitchen, Alfred finally let go of his coat.

"Now, you're sure you don't want to see me to the dock?" Arthur asked. That had been the first thing Alfred had said about him leaving, and it left him more than a little worried.

"No," Alfred shook his head. "Not this time." He had that grin on: the one that meant he had something nothing short of devilish in mind.

"And why not?" he asked, almost wondering if he wanted to know.

"Because," Alfred turned to face him, "I want this to be the last thing you remember from me," he stepped closer, visibly trembling with excitement, "and I can't do this in front of everyone at the dock."

Before Arthur could even ask, Alfred pulled him down by his vest and kissed him. And kissed him. And kissed him. And he was touching his hair and his face and anything else he could reach, like he was trying to memorize what Arthur felt like, so he could remember it in his absence. And Arthur wrapped his arms around him and held on like there was nothing else in the world but the two of them, trying his hardest to somehow wrap Alfred up in his devotion, in his love.

It was Alfred who ended the kiss, punctuating it with the shortest of pecks. Arthur wanted more. With everything in him, he wanted more. But Alfred just gave him a tight squeeze and smiled.

"I'll see you again," he stepped back. "Very soon."

Arthur smiled, said something inarticulate, and gave into the need for one last hug before he went out to the carriage.

~~~~~

It wasn't even six months later that he got the first news. There was a rebellion underway.

He buried his face in his hands, cursing himself and everything he'd ever done. His fears had been right. He'd hurt him, even if he hadn't realized it.

Even if Alfred had said he loved him, too.

~~~~~

It was years, decades, before he could honestly look Alfred in the eye again. It was ages and ages before he could speak to him outside of a formal meeting. It was always yes, hello, shake hands, present, sign something, be done with it.

In the end, it was Alfred who invited him over. In a letter, no less. Arthur's brain went six directions at once and then stopped completely. In the end, he got there ten minutes early and then sat in the car for fifteen driving himself crazy with worry.

By the time he got to the door, he was fully prepared to be shot.

Instead, Alfred yanked him inside, slammed the door shut behind him, and pulled him into the tightest embrace he'd felt in entirely too long.

"God, I'm sorry," he said, "I'm so sorry."

"What-- _why_?" was all Arthur could manage.

"Everything. I don't know. I just feel like I should be," Alfred wasn't crying, but he sounded damn near it. "I feel like I've hurt you, and I didn't ever want to hurt you. Not really. I just...I don't want you to hate me, anymore."

"I...Alfred," Arthur ran a hand up and down his back in an effort to soothe him, "I could never hate you."

"Then why haven't you talked to me? Outside of meetings and contracts? You never come near me unless your boss says you have to, and even then you act like I'm a complete stranger! I don't want to be a stranger to you. I don't want to lose you."

"I..." Arthur sighed. "I thought I was the one who hurt you. All those years ago. I mean, you never said you were hurt, but then...after I went back..."

"Arthur, you...you never did anything to hurt me. Not...well, I mean...you know what I mean."

He did.

"But, god I feel so stupid," Alfred's forehead was resting on Arthur's shoulder, and it was the most comfortable thing Arthur had felt in ages. "I just...I feel like such a _child_ because all I want you to do is...is hold me again. And k-k--" deep breath, "and kiss me again, like you used to. And just never, ever let me go, because--because..." His voice was just short of a whisper, but Arthur heard him loud and clear.

He tried to come up with a response to that, but Alfred kept talking.

"And, I mean, I know it's been a long time, and I know you probably have someone else, and I mean, it's not like I expected you to still...yeah, so, just..." Slowly, he let go of Arthur. "Just, feel free to leave, and if you want, we can forget any of this ever happened. And if you never want to see me again, that's fine. I just...I just had to get this off my chest. I'm sorry."

Arthur was completely shocked. He was utterly incapable of coherent thought, let alone speech. So he did what seemed like the only logical thing to do, which was to take Alfred's face in his hands and kiss him, hard and fierce.

"Alfred," he whispered, "There is no one else. I...I love you. That hasn't changed. Not once."

Alfred was crying now, even as he wrapped his arms around Arthur's neck and kissed him like mad, seemingly trying to fuse them together by sheer will. Arthur brushed away his tears, kissed him until they stopped, until they had to separate when their lungs began to burn.

"God," Alfred whispered, "how long has it been since we've done that?"

"Too long," Arthur murmured against his lips. "Too bloody long." He claimed Alfred's mouth once more.

Gradually, they relaxed, and then tensed up again, but this time in a very, very good way. Neither of them was certain who started it, but before long they were undoing each other's clothes, kicking off their shoes, making their way onto Alfred's sofa, never once completely breaking contact.

And Arthur could have wept with joy at the feel of Alfred's burning skin beneath him, of those fingernails scratching into his back, of their bodies aligned with each other, creating a delicious friction that was going to send him careening over the edge before too long. Alfred was not just panting, not just whimpering, but wantonly moaning and crying out for more, for Arthur to move faster, for Arthur to kiss him again, and it was the most beautiful sound Arthur had ever heard.

~~~~~

They lay on the sofa some time later, not sleeping, simply enjoying each other. Alfred idly toyed with Arthur's hair.

"I hope you were planning on staying here for a while," he said.

"Why?" Arthur had let his eyes slide shut some time ago, but he could hear that mischievous smile in Alfred's voice.

"Because now I never want to let you leave."

Arthur grinned into his chest.

"You don't have to worry about that."


End file.
